Who's on Top? A Twisted Romance Ch. 04

Literotic asexstories – Who's on Top? A Twisted Romance Ch. 04 by SKArgo,SKArgo
Chapter Four: Playing with Fire

We easily could’ve napped until morning, but I woke a few minutes to 8:00. She snored beside me. I gently shook her and said, “Time for dinner. There’s a restaurant downstairs.”

She stretched and groaned. “Do we have to?”

“I’ve got some things planned. It’ll be fun.”

She sighed and opened her eyes, still damp from slumber. Flashing me a lopsided smile, she asked, “Can’t we eat the shit you got from room service? Or was that just to fuck with me?”

I stared at her, shaking my head in wonder.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“That mouth on you. I think you’re gonna need more paddling.”

Now it was her turn to stare me down. “What?” I asked, trying to appear calm.

“Just wondering what it would be like to paddle you some time.” Then, with a little lilt in her voice, she added, “Or administer some other appropriate punishment.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I don’t make threats,” she said with an innocent grin. Her retort sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I got up and watched her loll in bed, naked. She looked — dare I say it? — self-satisfied. We couldn’t have that. “Out of bed, now,” I said.

“Why don’t you join me?”

“You heard me. Get that magnificent ass up here.”

She did, eying me, clearly wondering what I had in mind. “Pick up the paddle'” I said. “No, the wooden one. The hairbrush”

She did and looked at me, expectant. Her breath got shallow. I could see her getting aroused. I leaned over the bed, my ass in the air.

“Take your best shot. Do it now.”

I said it like I meant it and she did as I ordered. Ten spanks. I counted silently but didn’t speak or groan. My lack of reaction made her hit harder each time. Finally, she sighed in defeat.

“Have you started yet?” I asked.

She threw the brush onto the bed. “Not all pain is physical,” she said, a low grumble.

“Now get in there and take a shower or we’ll be late for dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” She padded into the bathroom. I heard the water come on.

Truth was, my ass hurt like hell. I couldn’t sit while I waited. Gingerly donning black jeans and a button up shirt, I remembered the other time I’d heard about not making threats. One of her colleagues had told me about a time she’d been negotiating to purchase a competitor. When they balked at what she felt was a generous per-share offer, she began speculating aloud about things that could happen in the market that would lower their stock price below the number she’d said she’d pay. The president of the other company asked if that was a threat. She said didn’t make threats. Her colleague had quoted the line to me, doing an excellent imitation. As it turned out, those things did happen, and she snapped up the company for a bargain price. Whether she’d done anything to trigger the stock slide — who could say? But the incident honed her reputation as a badass.

A few minutes later, she emerged swathed in one of the big towels.

The dress I’d bought her for this evening hung on a rack by the vanity, with my other purchase on the floor directly below. “What do you think of your outfit?”

She nodded appraisingly. “The little black dress is a classic piece of evening wear, and this one appears to be styled for maximum comfort on a hot night. That’s very thoughtful of you, sir. It’s sweltering out and the air conditioning in the lobby, where I believe the restaurant is located, seems minimal.”

Then I pointed to the shoes.

“The heels are striking and perfect for the fact that I won’t have to walk far. I don’t know if there will be dancing, but I’ll be inclined to kick them off for that. I don’t think you’ll mind.” She punctuated that comment with a naughty giggle and a sexy wiggle of her toes.

“Now tell me what you really think.”

“The dress is slutty and I’ve never worn fuck-me pumps in my life.”

“Well then, tonight will be a first. Now hurry up and get dressed. I’m starving.”

Javier was still on duty when we crossed the lobby to the restaurant. The way his eyes popped told me the dress revealed nearly as much of her breasts as she’d showed him earlier. “Loving the room,” she said as we passed. I enjoyed how his eyes flew over to me.

The place had a tiny crowd. A sign said to seat ourselves. I chose a booth where we could keep an eye on the room. As we slid in, I said, “Javier seemed pleased to see you.”

She leaned in. “Are you sorry I didn’t suck his cock?” Her smile was innocent as a baby’s. “I understand he’s on ’till eleven.”

Her question and the suggestion behind it threw me, but I couldn’t show it. “Are you insinuating I’d get off on it?” I asked, chuckling. I wondered whether it was a shot in the dark or if somehow, she knew. “That’s outlandish — and very bratty of you. It requires a response.”

Just then, a fortyish guy with a neatly trimmed beard came over to greet us and provide menus. He asked if we wanted to start with drinks. On quiet nights like this one, he doubled as bartender and waiter, he explained. I said we’d both have vodka martinis, straight up — and make them doubles. He scooted off to take care of the drinks and “give you a minute with the menus.”

She kept her eyes on the table and let me do the talking. Our dynamic seemed to pique his interest. By the time he returned with the drinks, I’d chosen our meals.

“I’ll have the rib-eye, rare.”

He nodded. “And you, miss?”

She kept quiet, letting me answer for her. One reason the place’s menu had attracted me on their website was its selection of Indian dishes. I ordered her a goat curry. The menu said the spice level is up to the patron. I asked the server to explain how it worked.

“One means not hot at all,” he said, “ten’s a five-alarm fire.”

“Let’s say ‘eleven,'” I deadpanned.

He looked confused, briefly, then got the joke (a film called This Is Spinal Tap, if you’re wondering). “Okay,” he said, making a note on his pad. He tried to catch her eye. “You’ve had the extreme stuff before, I take it?”

“She loves it,” I said. My jumping in annoyed him, but he held his tongue. “And we’ll start with the jalapeno poppers. See, honey? I told you they have good choices.”

He headed back to the bar, clearly troubled but staying out of it. The truth is, she hates spicy hot food. She could counter my prank by asking for a side of pineapple. It wouldn’t have ended the evening, only this particular tangent. But she wasn’t going there.

I held up my glass to toast. She lifted hers and clinked. I took a sip. She did the same. We both set the glasses down.

“Finish it,” I said.

Her eyes got wide. I stared back impassively. She brought her drink to her lips and tilted up the glass. Gulp after gulp, I expected her to cry uncle, but she drained it. Then she lowered it to the table and exhaled. She muttered something I couldn’t make out, so I asked her to repeat it.

“I said, ‘Jesus,’ sir.”

“I see. As a prayer or a curse word?”

“A little of both.” I nodded. Neither of us was going to give in and giggle. She leaned in closer to speak confidentially. “If I get sick, may I have permission to run to the bathroom, sir?”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

She looked surprised when she let out a big burp. Stifling my laugh was hard but worth it. I gave her my best fake glare, since I loved it but had to look peeved.

The effect of the alcohol proved beneficial when our food came a few minutes later. She was as loose as you might expect and ate with abandon, despite the nuclear explosions that must have been detonating in her mouth. Her expressions as she chewed and swallowed were priceless. By the time she finished, her face flushed red and tears streamed down her cheeks.

She smiled through them. “Who’s ready for another drink?” she asked.

“That’s the spirit,” I said. “Go to the bar and get us refills.” She slipped out of the booth. Before she could go, I took her hand and pulled her over to whisper, “Food and drinks are part of the package. No money should change hands.” She nodded and began to get up.

“Wait. You have to come back with more than the drinks. I want an item of information from the bartender. Something he wouldn’t normally tell people. Do whatever it takes.”

She turned toward the bar and took a wobbly step in that direction, then stopped.

“May I take off these heels, sir?” she asked.

“Going barefoot in a restaurant is a violation of the health code.”

With a plucky nod, she continued on in a shaky stride. At the bar she leaned over to talk with the guy. For the first time I noticed another man on a barstool facing away from me. A silver-haired, older guy. She chatted with the bartender for a while and kept up their tete-a-tete while he made drinks. I saw him laugh, nod, and, at one point, cup his hand by his mouth as if to tell a secret.

The older guy took it all in, perched on his stool with a familiarity that made me take him for a regular. I wondered how his presence might influence her quest to get private info.

Watching her flirt, I felt pleased to see her follow my orders. Then a strange flush came over me. What was that about? She was only demonstrating obedience. Still, my gut mixed its own cocktail, equal parts arousal, fear, and a third ingredient I couldn’t name.

The bartender filled the two martini glasses to the brim. He bent over to say something. She let loose a belly laugh. So did the older guy, who then seemed to go off on a story of his own. It lasted a while — annoying me no end — and finished with everybody in stitches. The bartender patted the guy’s shoulder, as if to say, “Well done.” She ran her hand down his other arm, then reached up to stroke the back of his neck.

Damn. If she thought she could needle me by coming on to a guy old enough to be her father, it only proved I was getting into her head. I resolved to make something of this opportunity. She had to know I wasn’t the jealous type.

She lifted the glasses. The bartender reached out, clearly offering to carry them. She shook her head. He watched her wind her way back to our booth, not even trying to cover how much he admired her ass. The old guy — I’d started calling him the Geezer in my mind — stared openly, as well. Seeing his face confirmed he was older, yet anything but decrepit. Handsome, even, with an air that said he’d seen some shit. And he also clearly loved her tight butt.

I took the glasses when she came into range. Looking relieved to have made it without spilling, she slid into the booth and raised her glass to toast.

“Not so fast,” I said, sharply. “What’d you get out of him?”

“A little drink would only improve the story,” she said, “but as you wish. He lost his virginity at the tender age of sixteen. She was a hooker. Claimed to be twenty-two but looked older. She said it was for his pleasure so not to worry about her, but at the end she seemed to get into it. He’s always thought she might’ve been faking. I told him she definitely was.”

Her smug look annoyed me. “Pretty weak,” I said with a sneer. “I could see him telling his friends that story after a couple of beers.”

“Agreed. I let him know he had to do better if he wanted anything from me. That’s when he added…” here she dropped her own volume … “that he was so nervous he kept going soft. They had to stop a couple of times so she could get him functional again. It left him scared to have sex for years. Says he passed up some good opportunities for fear of failure to launch.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding my appreciation. “I doubt his drinking buddies know that part. What did you give him in exchange?”

“I got lucky there. He said he’d tell me something juicy if I gave him my number.”

“What? God, no. We don’t want him calling you.”

“I know, right? I thought he meant that, too. But he was asking how many men I’ve slept with. I got all shy and made him drag it out of me. Then I said if he meant intercourse, it’s one.”

“How’d he take that?”

“Philosophically, I’d say. Made one of those, ‘Ya win some, ya lose some’ gestures. Now Brady, on the other hand, seemed to take it hard.”

“And who would that be?”

“Didn’t you see the other guy sitting there? He couldn’t help overhearing us.”

“You mean the geezer?”

“That’s insulting,” she said sharply. Then, softening her tone, “I mean, it’s ageist and beneath you, sir.” She seemed sensitive about this guy. I wondered how to use it.

“How would you describe him, then?”

“Hmmm…. Silver fox?”

I rolled my eyes. “What’d he say?”

“Should I tell you exactly? He used strong language, sir.” I nodded. She spoke in a low drawl that I assume was an imitation of Brady. “‘Now that’s a fuckin’ crime.'”

I grumbled, letting her know I was unamused. “It looked like he was telling a story.” She nodded. “So give,” I ordered.

“Well, sir… That wasn’t part of my assignment.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t want to make the night about this guy. Then out of nowhere, she giggled. “What?” I asked, irritably.

“Just his story. He’s apparently quite the ladies’ man.” She giggled again, then forced her face to go blank.

“You’re being such a brat,” I said. I pulled out my phone, snapped her photo, and showed it to her. “What do you see? A brat. Mockery demands punishment.”

The submissive look she gave me reeked with sarcasm. I had to shoot from the hip before I lost control of the situation. Always a risk. Sometimes, though, terrible notions produce delightful outcomes in the long run.

I handed her the phone (she’d left hers upstairs, having no pockets in her outfit). “If he’s such a stud, bring me a dick pic.” Her eyes got wide. I think for once I truly caught her by surprise. “Erect,” I added. “That’s if he can get it up. Which I doubt.”

Her eyes flashed. I thought she was about to tell me off, even use the safe word to end our little routine. Instead, she smiled to herself. I saw what she was doing. “Oh, you think it’s actually a reward,” I said. “I’m sure a slut like you would love to get your hands on him.”

I hadn’t used that word before in our play and worried I’d gone too far. All she did was get quiet. If anything, she looked contrite.

“Here are the rules. You can’t touch it — no lips, fingers, boobs, or butt. No contact. You can thank him verbally. In fact, you have to, and profusely. But that’s it.”

She pondered. “Sir, I’m concerned he may not see enough in it for him. May I negotiate? Within the parameters you’ve set, of course.”

I made her wait for it. “I trust your judgment.” She slid an inch or two toward the edge of the seat before I stopped her. “Give me your panties,” I said.

Her eyes froze like a deer in headlights. We both knew how short the skirt she wore was. We also knew we were pushing the limits. Which of us would give in?

“Or would you like dessert? I know for a fact they have pineapple.” I wasn’t sure whether her resorting to the safe word would be a win or loss for me. In any case, I didn’t want her to get so carried away in the performance that she did something she genuinely didn’t want to do. Part of my job was to keep her safe while she went for broke.

She reached down and slid the narrow strip of fabric over her butt and down her legs. As she handed it over, it occurred to me it didn’t cover much in any case. She swung her legs around, knees together, and stood. Finding her balance on the heels, she kept her torso straight and tugged the skirt down as far as it would go. Then without so much as a glance in my direction, she performed a perfect runway walk over to the bar.

I practically salivated watching the dumbshow as she sat beside the geezer and engaged him in a tete-a-tete. He listened for a moment, then noticeably became more attentive. She reached out casually to lay her hand on his arm. Just like she’d done with me the first night we connected. Her simple gesture made my stomach twist violently.

The bartender busied himself wiping glasses. After a few minutes, he set fresh drinks in front of both of them. They fell into a pattern where one would knock back a slug while the other spoke, and vice versa. At last, the geezer said something to the bartender, who turned and pushed open a small door behind him. The geezer circled the bar and went in. She followed right behind. Neither spared a glance in my direction.

The world moved like bullet-time in The Matrix. The bartender cleaned glasses with extravagant care. A customer raised a hand to ask for the check in slow motion. The bartender might as well have been swimming underwater, it took him so long to deliver it.

All the while, the two of them stayed behind the door. How much credibility would I lose if I ran over and opened it? She’d have called my bluff, that’s for sure. But I didn’t know how much I could stand of not knowing what was going on in there.

At last, the door opened. She stepped out first, smiling like the cat who caught the canary. She strode directly to our table — getting cocky in those heels, I noticed — and sat across from me. Laying my phone face down, she slid it over to me. I picked it up and looked.

There it was. Fully engorged. I squinted into her smiling face. “You didn’t…”

“I followed the rules you gave me, sir.”

“It just popped up on its own?” My tone reeked skepticism.

“You of all people should appreciate the power of words.”

“Not to mention your skill in the art of flashing.”

We held the stare. The corners of her lips curled up slightly. I let mine do the same. God, I was horny. “This has been a lovely date,” I said. “It’s time to go upstairs.”

She bit her lip. “Well…”

Only then did I notice that the Geezer/Silver Fox/Brady had walked up behind her. He held out his hand. “Ready?”

She smiled, then took it and rose. She leaned over to kiss me, whispering in my ear, “Don’t wait up.”

My head spun around to watch them exit. It took every ounce of self-control I could muster to keep from panicking. That’s not true. I absolutely panicked. The question was whether I could keep from showing it. Was this a game of chicken? Would I find her in our room, waiting? I looked toward the bartender. He’d been staring but snapped his head away quickly.

I waited in anguish. At last, I got up and walked over to the bar. He stared at me. I cleared my throat. “Do I need to sign anything?” I asked. He looked confused, like he was trying to put together what had just happened with the question I asked. “For dinner and drinks?”

He shook his head no, saying he knew my room number (why did that sound ominous?). I should’ve played it cool but couldn’t. “Do you know where they went?”

He waited a long time to answer. “He lives close by,” he said with a casual shrug. “That’s why he spends so much time here. Short drive.”

“You let him drink all night and then get behind the wheel?” I knew my outrage over the driving was to cover other things, but it was a fair question.

“He’s a twelve-stepper. Drinks mocktails and n/a beer all night.”

“Oh, okay then.” As if that was what I was worried about.

“So… he’s fresh as a daisy…for whatever comes up.”

Now this guy was fucking with me, too. I gave him a dark look and left quickly. I thought she might surprise me in the lobby, but no such luck. I looked outside. There were only a few cars and no people in sight. The room was dark when I got there, bed turned down and chocolates laid out by housekeeping. I checked the bathroom and closet and concluded I was alone.

It would be a long night, but nothing compared to the morning.